Couple of the Year
by Sarra Collan
Summary: Ritchie and Demelza have struggled for six years to keep their relationship secret, but when a series of newspaper articles link Harry to Demelza and Ginny to Ritchie, they find themselves competing opposite one another in a 'Couple of the Year' contest.


_A/N: This chaptered story is a semi-sequel to my one shot _The Quidditch List_. One of my reviewers on FictionAlley mentioned a desire to see a sequel or a chaptered fic about Ritchie, Demelza, and Jimmy, which sparked too many ideas to ignore. So here it is, a Ritchie/Demelza romance with a familiar cast of supporting characters who were all clamoring for a part._

* * *

_Chapter One: Rough Game, Quidditch_

It was precisely one hour, two minutes, and thirty-seven seconds into the game that Demelza Robins took her first bludger to the face.

"Time!" called her captain, Jimmy Peakes, as he flew over to investigate. Demelza suddenly found herself in the middle of a Ballycastle Bats huddle, and decided the press of her team-mates made it more difficult to breathe than her bruised face did.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she insisted as blood gushed out her nose. "Coote got me when I wasn't looking."

She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Jimmy shaking his head sadly. It was the one drawback to professional Quidditch, she admitted; it pit former team-mates against one another, and it was sometimes difficult to remember that you were no longer playing for the same side. In this case, however, she had no sympathy, especially when it had been a blatant attack.

One of the team's Healers swooped in quickly and muttered, "_Episkey!_" which caused her nose to return to its normal size, reminding her of Harry Potter, and the first time she'd heard that spell. _The wonders of magic_, Demelza thought wryly. There was no need to scar a pretty face. Pity the consideration was only born of the fact that she was, like it or not, the poster girl for the Bats, as well as several additional brand-name products. The marketing deals brought in money where Quidditch did not, but she had no use for it. No, Demelza thought, not for the first time, she had agreed because she was a coward.

"I'm ready, let's get back out there," she said, shaking away ugly thoughts as she jumped straight back on her broom.

"Whoa," said Jimmy, grabbing her by the neck of her uniform and pulling her back as the rest of the team kicked off, "I'll be needing a promise first, Demelza."

"What?" she said, internally enjoying a small laugh at the intense look of seriousness on Jimmy's face. He'd come a long way from the boy she'd known at Hogwarts, and had finally grown to the proper shape. Jimmy was a popular bloke, to be sure, but he still sadly lacked a sense of humour.

"No revenge." His serious look grew even more intense, as if he was reading her thoughts. Demelza put on her best 'slightly-affronted' look.

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about. As if I'd ever stoop to his level!"

Jimmy started counting on his fingers. "January 12th, Edinburgh. You bewitched rotten fruit to pummel Ritchie. March 9th, Dublin. After he knocked you from your broom, you turned _his_ broom into a rubber raft, costing us the game as well as earning yourself probation. April 22nd, Aberdeen—"

"All right," Demelza interrupted, "that one was _not_ my fault. How was I supposed to know Coote was allergic to my magnolia perfume?"

"Well, the fact that you'd practically bathed in the stuff the night before would indicate premeditation, Demelza." Jimmy shook his head. "There's plenty more, too. I just don't understand where this…_hatred _came from. You used to be friends—even more."

"And now we're not," replied Demelza, tossing some of the stray blonde hairs from her face. "You know about our families, Jim. And you know that his family would happily see me dead, just as mine would love to blow him to pieces. There is no love lost between us, it's just as well we figured it out before things went too far. Now, can we finish this game before the fans riot?"

Jimmy gave in with good grace, because lacking a sense of humour though he was, he knew when to call it quits, and fighting with his star Chaser never did either of them any good. He did extract a promise from her to keep her nose clean for the rest of the game (no pun intended, clearly), and they shook hands.

Demelza finally went forward to take her penalty, and the Magpies' Keeper let it slip through her fingers. The Bats had been lagging behind by fifty points, but pulled ahead in the third hour, just before their Seeker, Gladys Griffiths, managed to pull the Snitch from where it had got tangled in the opposing player's uniform, ending the game in hometown Ballycastle Bats victory.

The Bats shook hands with their opposing numbers, and no one noticed the private look shared between Ritchie Coote and Demelza Robins right before they headed for their respective changing rooms.

* * *

"How's your nose?" Ritchie asked later, at home, as he was setting the table for dinner. It was his turn to cook, hers to clean. They alternated every other week, having reached a compromise just like any other ordinary couple. The fact that they kept two flats, one in Ireland and one in Scotland depending on the location of their Quidditch matches, and therefore had two sets of dishes to wash, was only one thorn of many in their relationship, proving they were far from ordinary.

"Fine, but couldn't you have aimed for my thigh? I think there's residual swelling." Demelza prodded her nose gently, but there was nothing wrong with it that Ritchie could see. All he saw was his girlfriend's unfailing beauty, and he was perfectly content to stare at her.

For all of ten minutes.

"It was your turn to bleed, sweetheart," Ritchie reminded her. He had certainly hated to do it, but they both knew the game they played would never fool anyone without a little bloodshed. "And I knew the Bats would have you fixed up in a trice. Can't have their model player looking anything less than perfect."

Demelza rolled her expressive green eyes as she set his plate down in front of him. "If I thought I could get away with it, I'd have you break my nose and then let it be. 'Tis a nuisance, a pretty face."

Ritchie smiled, hearing the lilt in her voice. "You know, every time you come home from a game you sound just a little more Irish than when you left."

She laughed, and leaned over to kiss him. "'Tis Jimmy's fault, really. He lectures in that brogue of his, and I can't help imitating him for several hours after. Besides, it's in me blood, don't forget."

At the sound of his former team-mate's name, Ritchie sighed and pulled back slightly. Demelza raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and simply took her seat opposite him, shaking her napkin delicately onto her lap.

After a minute's silence, she said, "He told me I wasn't allowed to have revenge on you, then asked where our…how did he put it? Where our _hatred_ had come from. I think he still remembers that day on the train."

"Who could forget?" replied Ritchie, heavy with the thought of it himself. Twelve years ago, _God, has it been so long already?_ Twelve years ago, life seemed promising, if a little hollow. He had the possibility of an open life with the girl he had long admired, and the possibility that for all his faults she admired him as well. Then he had arrived home after that long, eventful train ride, and the events of his fifth year seemed to mean very little once his mother told him he could _never_ see Demelza Robins again, and the reasons why.

Reasons which always felt so empty.

Demelza seemed to read his thoughts, like she often did. "We're together now," she said softly. "That's what counts, I think."

"Yes, but we have to lie to everyone we know and love in order to do it." Ritchie poked at his vegetables, moving them around the plate. "Sometimes, I hate the price."

"I do too," said Demelza with a sigh. "But you know why 'tis necessary. If one word of our relationship got out—Ritchie, my family would kill you!"

"And mine you," he replied. "Oh, I know. But what are we doing, Mel? In order to complete this charade we have to cause each other bodily harm!"

"Only when our teams play against one another, which isn't all that often!" So quick to defend, was Demelza. A pretty colour flushed her cheeks. "You know how I feel, Ritch, I won't see you harmed by my family. Not for some petty feud they couldn't even be bothered to tell us about until we were sixteen."

"It did seem so arbitrary at the time," Ritchie agreed. "I asked if you could spend a few weeks with us, and all of the sudden there was a blood feud and you were the enemy."

Demelza walked over to his seat, apparently having lost her appetite, and crouched down by him. "So we've hidden our relationship so that our parents don't find out. It seems so…juvenile, doesn't it. And yet, in order to keep up the pretence, _no one_ can find out about us. 'Tis a heavy burden. And if you're not wanting any part of it anymore, I'll understand."

Ritchie stared at her in disbelief. "I was _not_ saying that. Mel, I love you, you know I love you, I don't want to let you go. And if it wasn't for the fact that your family is comprised of many scary men, some of whom potentially have mob connections, I'd press you to make this permanent."

Demelza said nothing; she knew everything he said was true. This was hardly the first time they were having this conversation.

"So what, then? We leave things as is?"

"We can never come up with a better plan, so, I suppose so," Ritchie said with a frustrated sigh.

They finished their meal in silence, and Ritchie helped Demelza clean up. She was tense and irritated, but Ritchie understood that it wasn't directed at him; their Romeo-and-Juliet lifestyle had been taking its toll on both of them for quite some time, and the fact that their sixth anniversary was only two weeks away didn't help.

"Where do the lads think you are tonight?" Demelza asked as they put away the dishes, forcing a light tone as if it were all just a big gag. They _had_ found it amusing – in the beginning when it was all still new to them and sneaking around had a 007-ish appeal.

"With my beautiful, classy, entirely _fictional_ girlfriend of the month," answered Ritchie. Having just lost a game on unfamiliar turf, the other members of the Montrose Magpies had wanted him to go out and drown his sorrows, but he'd declined. Unlike the rest, he actually had a place in town to spend the night.

Demelza made a face. "And who is this one modelled after?"

"Well, let's see, she's a redheaded photographer and former model, so…Ginny Weasley." Ritchie grinned.

"Your third fictional girlfriend was modelled after Ginny," sniffed Demelza, though her eyes sparkled, "and Ginny has never been a model _or_ a photographer."

"Well, I can't have the boys thinking I'm _actually_ dating Ginny Weasley, or I'd have an infuriated Harry Potter on my doorstep wanting to pound my face in. That bloke frightens me."

"He's just Harry," said Demelza, taking a seat on their red living-room couch and tucking her knees to her chin. She closed her eyes for a minute and stretched her lower back; Quidditch was wreaking havoc with her sciatica. "We _know_ Harry. We've had dinner with him…not at the same time, of course, not for years. We like Harry, he's good to Ginny."

"He defeated You-Know-Who by himself," Ritchie pointed out, sitting down next to her and offering his hands for a back rub. "That's not normal, and it gives a bloke a reputation."

Demelza chuckled lightly, leaning into him. "Well, of course it does, nitwit. That's still no reason to be afraid of him. Ginny loves him, and Ginny's my friend, so I'll be hearing no more about him from you, m' lad."

"Fine," Ritchie said, pulling Demelza down across his lap. "I can think of several other things I'd rather be doing than talking about the Wizarding World's 'It' couple. Where do _your_ friends think you are tonight?"

"Learning to dance the flamenco at a muggle dance hall, against the express orders of my father," Demelza replied, her dimples showing at full force. "What precisely did you have in mind?"

He leaned closer to whisper her ear. "A hot bath and then to bed early. I'm knackered."

"So romantic."

"I'll show you romance."

* * *

Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley was close to deserted the next afternoon, with the exception of the two witches enjoying banana splits and gossip in the warm sun.

"So glad you could come out for a visit, Demelza," Ginny said. "It hasn't been the same since you moved back to Belfast."

"I'm barely a stone's throw away," Demelza said, waving away the distance between countries. What was a few hundred miles to a witch who could Apparate? Anway, this week she and Ritchie were staying at his flat in Glasgow; it was only a quick Floo without water woes from there.

"Have I told you? Ron and Hermione are in the middle of their third spat of the week," said Ginny, dipping her spoon back into her sundae.

"But it's only Tuesday!" exclaimed Demelza, dropping her spoon into the nearly empty dish of her favourite flavour. She had been quite relieved when the parlour's owner had resurfaced a year or two after the war, little the worse for wear.

"Yes, they _are_ quite good. I never could understand how they had the stamina for it." Ginny sighed. "I rather think they enjoy it. It keeps things fresh. Ron's going to propose next week."

It was said like a throw-away line, but startled Demelza out of her ice cream-induced stupor.

"What, again? How many times does a bloke have to be rejected before he takes the hint?" Then, suddenly, Demelza was angry. "She should marry him, she _ought_ to marry him. She loves him, doesn't she? Then what is her problem? Some women aren't as fortunate as Hermione Granger, who gets a proposal nearly every week! What about the rest of us?"

"Whoa, Demelza," said Ginny, her eyes going wide at her friend's unexpected outburst, "where's all this coming from?"

Demelza lowered her eyes and stared at her shoes. How could she explain? It was so infuriating sometimes; she would accept Ritchie's proposal in a heartbeat – if he ever got around to asking. And she knew why he didn't; they wouldn't make it to the altar before one or both of them was disintegrated. Still, it hurt that Hermione Granger had the luxury of repeatedly turning down her live-in boyfriend when _she_ wasn't even going to get to hear the question. Not for the first time, or the last, Demelza reconsidered her arrangement. They couldn't keep it up forever, no matter how much they loved one another.

"Hello? Demelza?" Ginny was snapping her fingers in her face. "Are you still in there somewhere?"

"What? Oh, of course, Ginny. I was only thinking about you," Demelza said quickly, her cheeks flushed. "When's Harry going to be getting around to asking, hm?"

But her comment was not taken as the light-hearted jest she had meant, and Ginny's face darkened.

"Never," she replied, rather harshly, as the remains of her ice cream melted from the heat of her hands. "And I am getting pretty sick and tired of waiting, I can tell you. Ten years, _ten years_, Demelza, since Harry defeated Voldemort and came back into my life. I wouldn't think a proposal is too much to ask for after all that time."

Demelza was slightly taken aback by the vehemence in Ginny's voice. "I'm sure he's going to do it some day. He loves you, Gin, you know that."

"Some days," Ginny said in a weary tone, "I think he only loves the idea of me."

"Well," said Demelza, at a loss for words, "that's just silly. All anyone has to do is just _look_ at the poor sod to see how desperately in love with you he is."

But her words of encouragement fell on deaf ears.

"Here me now, Demelza," said Ginny, banging a fist on the table, "I'm making an ultimatum. Either Harry's proposed to me by the end of the month, or I'm calling it quits."

"Oh, Ginny, you can't be serious!" Demelza replied, well aware of the stares of passerby. She slunk lower in her seat and covered her face with her hands as a few flashbulbs went off. At least they had the decency not to ask for autographs. "You can't give up what the two of you have!"

"I am perfectly serious," Ginny said, her face nearly the colour of her hair. "So if you see that sorry excuse for a Seeker, better drop a few unsubtle hints."

Ginny waved a quick goodbye and practically bolted from her seat, leaving a very confused Demelza behind. Obviously she had missed some event which would make sense of that outburst. Problems at home for Ginny and Harry were rare, but not unheard of. And Ginny did have a point; there was absolutely no good reason for the most successful couple of the century to avoid marriage. If she saw Harry she'd just have to have a few words with him. Someone ought to be happy, after all.

"Trouble in paradise, then?"

Demelza started at the intrusion, and shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun, staring at the newcomer. When she recognised the sly grin, dark hair, and dark eyes, she bit back a grimace.

"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea _what_ you're talking about, Romilda," Demelza said, attempting to make it clear Romilda Vane wasn't wanted.

She'd never been any good at it, though, so Romilda just sat down and made herself comfortable.

"Could it possibly be that the golden matchup between Potter and Weasley is finally at an end?" she said, ordering an iced tea, an indication that she had no intention of going anywhere for a good long while.

"Don't be ridiculous," Demelza replied, trying to keep a nervous tremor from her voice. "They're just as solid as they ever were."

"Didn't seem that way to me," said Romilda, tossing her long curtain of raven hair over one shoulder with a wink.

Demelza hated the way Romilda attempted to force her sexuality on everyone she came in contact with. It was sickening behaviour, even for a _Daily Prophet_ reporter. She'd never mentioned it to anyone, not even Ritchie, because she was fairly certain he didn't share the opinion. Recalling the way Romilda had _thrown_ herself upon Ritchie at the banquet before their last Quidditch match, Demelza felt her even temper dissolve.

"What business is it of yours, then?" she retorted, regretting the outburst almost instantly.

"It's not, I suppose," Romilda answered, lighting a cigarette she'd taken from her purse. She blew smoke rings off to the side, leaving a crimson stain on the stem. Her lips curved up, and Demelza's stomach dropped to her shoes. "I only thought I'd offer Harry my condolences if they're on the outs. How that little tramp could even _consider_ leaving someone like Harry—"

"You'll keep a civil tongue in that inflated head o' yours about Ginny, Romilda," Demelza growled, startled by her own tone. "An attitude like that is why Harry did all he could to run from you when we were at school."

Romilda's smirk fled, and colour stained her cheeks. "It's rich of you to be commenting on my methods, considering you haven't been in a real relationship since you left Hogwarts."

Demelza gasped at the low blow, almost as if Romilda really had struck her. "What would you be knowing about it?"

"We were in Gryffindor together, darling," Romilda said, a not-so-subtle reminder that they'd shared the lion's colours; it was so easy to mistake Romilda for a snake in the grass. "I do like to check up on my house mates every now and again. It _is_ my job after all, and, like it or not, dear, you're public property. The beautiful Demelza Robins: Ireland's Sweetheart. Chaser…Spokesmodel…Nun. Honestly, Demelza, you never have a beau. Are you just picky, or do you play for the other team?"

At that, Demelza got to her feet. That was the final straw. "At least I don't feel the need to thrust my breasts in the face of everyone who walks by. What's the matter, Ro, is it that you didn't get enough attention from Daddy growing up? Or are you just a manipulative bitch?"

Romilda went scarlet, but said nothing. Her cigarette turned to ash in her hands.

"As _lovely_ as this encounter has been," continued Demelza, torn between pleasure at putting Romilda in her place and discomfort at her own nasty transformation, "I have to be going. You really oughtn't smoke, you know. It's probably the cause of all those little lines around your lips."

And she stalked off, leaving a speechless-with-rage Romilda Vane behind. By the time she'd Floo-ed home to her flat in Glasgow, however, the pleasant feeling of victory had faded completely, to be replaced by dread.

"I shouldn't have done that," she told Ritchie repeatedly as they sat down to listen to the Pride of Portree game on the wireless that evening. "Romilda'll do anything to get what she wants, and what she'll want now is revenge."

"You don't know that," Ritchie argued, though without much enthusiasm. "What's the worst she can do to you, anyway?"

"She could find out about us!" Demelza exclaimed. "And then publish it in the _Prophet_! We'd be as good as dead."

"We're old hands at this, Mel, and far too careful to let a little nothing news-hound like Romilda Vane uncover us." Ritchie put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close, taking a deep whiff of her shampoo. "I'm sure she'll resent you for years, look for a chance to humiliate you at some sort of class reunion, and then move on."

"Have you been watching Muggle films again?" Demelza teased.

"Well, I've got to do something when you're in Belfast with your mates," replied Ritchie. "I've got a membership to the video shop down the road now. The muggle bloke who works there thinks I'm cute."

Demelza laughed, and felt herself relax as she melted into Ritchie. "Who am I to argue then?"

They went to bed completely at peace, simply enjoying one another's company. Their unusual situation and its accompanying woes went ignored for another day. Though just before she dropped off to sleep, Demelza considered the relationship between Harry and Ginny, hoping that they would be able to work everything out.

The news was all over the papers by the morning.


End file.
